


A World Newly Born

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Chance Meetings, Christmas Fluff, Developing Relationship, Feelstide 2015, First Meetings, M/M, in a historical context, mentions of stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-06 21:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5431262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finals are the worst time to start dating, but Clint and Phil just seem to keep running into each other.</p><p>or</p><p>5 times they met up by accident and one time they dated on purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A World Newly Born

**Author's Note:**

> For Feelstide prompt #69. I've included the text of the prompt at the end of the fic, for those who wish to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Biggest thanks to the Feelstide mods, for running this challenge again. I'm sure they're absolutely exasperated with me, and I don't blame them. But here it is, and I hope you all like it.
> 
> Huge thanks also to orderlychaos and ladytian, without whom this fic would never have been finished. You guys are the best cheerleaders and betas a girl could ask for. Thank you so much!

 

Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.  
~ Anais Nin

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Clint hitches his backpack further onto this shoulder, looking around with a sigh. It's the beginning of finals week, and the library is _full_. He doesn't see an open table anywhere.

He chews on his lip, thinking. Wade, his roommate, is endlessly entertaining, but calm and quiet are not words he's familiar with, which means Clint hardly ever studies in his room. He could hunker down somewhere in the stacks and work -- he's done it before -- but he actually thinks he needs quiet and some table space today, and he doesn't want to risk one of the librarians hustling him out. He _needs_ an A on this final project.

Most of the tables are occupied by pairs or groups, or people with their things spread out in a way that means they're not willing to share. _Assholes_ , Clint thinks darkly. He catches sight of one guy who seems to be responsibly using only half of his table, so Clint makes his way across the room, dodging backpacks and bags and half-pushed-in chairs.

He stands by the table for the moment, and when the guy shows no signs of stopping whatever he's reading, Clint quietly clears his throat. The guy looks up, startled, and Clint is momentarily thrown. The guy is gorgeous, his beautiful blue eyes wide with surprise and framed by fine brown hair in disarray -- it looks like he's been running his hands through it as he studies. Clint realizes the guy is blinking at him in confusion, and he clears his throat again.

"Do you mind if I, uh..." He gestures to the table. "It's pretty full in here."

The guy glances around, his eyes widening even more as he sees how crowded the library is. He quickly gathers his things closer. "Wow, yeah, let me -- "

"Shhh!"

It comes from a couple of different people around them, and the guy's mouth snaps shut, pink blooming along his cheekbones.

Clint slides into the seat opposite him, mouthing, _Thanks._

He starts pulling his things out of his backpack, watching as the guy reorganizes his stuff. He's got a couple of thick textbooks, a ton of printouts, a stack of comic books, of all things, 3 pens in different colors, and 6 highlighters. All of the pens and highlighters are lined up in a perfectly straight row, and Clint watches as the guy makes a note on a printout in red, his writing small and perfectly even.

Clint tries to concentrate, really, he does, but watching his tablemate work is fascinating. His notes are tiny and multicolored, and when he highlights something in them or in his printouts, the highlighted line is ruler straight, with no ruler in sight.

The third or fourth time the guy picks up a highlighter, Clint notices the tiny pink sliver of tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he makes his line, and after that, it's even more impossible to concentrate. He shifts awkwardly in his seat and forces his attention back to his notes.

It works for a little while until he notices the guy put down his pen (the red one) and pick up one of the comic books. He handles it carefully, gently leafing through the pages, brow furrowing as he scans the panels.

"Taking a break?" Clint murmurs without really meaning to, and the guy looks up in surprise.

"What? Oh, no... it's for a paper."

"You're writing a paper on comic books?" Clint asks, half-skeptical and half-envious. It sounds much more interesting than his paper on the history of healthcare in America. Damn gen ed classes.

"Truth and propaganda in popular media," Phil replies, and Clint smirks.

"Really? Truth? In a comic book? With the shrink rays and super serum and flying armor -- "

His tablemate is earnestly shaking his head. "No! Well, yes, I mean a lot of the 'science' is made up," he says, making actual finger quotes, and Clint can't help his grin, because this guy is gorgeous _and_ adorably dorky. "But many of the early adventures, particularly those of Captain America, have proven foundations in fact, and -- "

"SHHH!"

The girls at the next table are sending them some serious death glares, and Clint glares right back -- his is fearsome, he knows -- but his tablemate shuts his mouth, ducking his head.

"Sorry," he murmurs toward the next table with a quick, sheepish glance toward Clint before he picks up his comic book again.

Clint feels bad -- he's the one who started the conversation -- and he feels like he should apologize, but the guy is studiously applying himself to his work now, and Clint realizes he should probably do the same. Time is getting short, and he has _a lot_ of boring jargon to read.

He's not really sure how much time has passed, but the windows are dark when his tablemate starts packing up his things -- pens and highlighters in a metal case with a red, white, and blue shield on it, the same shield on the cover of the comics being carefully slid into individual plastic bags, actually. Clint realizes he's staring when the guy stands and hitches his bag on his shoulder, pausing as he catches Clint's eye.

"Table's all yours," he murmurs with a small smile, and then he turns, quickly making his way through the crowded library. Clint watches him go, and curses the fact that he didn't even introduce himself. The odds of seeing the cute comic book geek again are slim, but Clint will definitely be looking.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

The coffeeshop is loud with conversation and laughter, all of it competing with the jazzy Christmas music spilling out of the speakers. Clint has given up studying for the moment -- it'd be quieter in his room, even with Wade singing random songs about tacos.

He's absorbed in the game he's playing on his phone, which is why he doesn't register that the quiet, "Excuse me," is aimed toward him.

It's only when there's the sound of a throat being quietly cleared that he registers there's someone standing next to his table, and he looks up -- at just the wrong time.

His screen goes red as the game ends, and he groans. "Aww, game, no! Oh! Oh, hey!"

It's the guy from the library, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, you're busy, I'll just -- "

"No!" Clint cries, flailing a little as he sits up straight. He pulls his feet off the chair opposite him, shoving it away from the table. "Um, sit! If you want, I mean," he adds, nervously rubbing at the back of his neck. "I'm, uh, Clint."

Cute Comic Book Geek sits, smiling shyly at him. "Oh, I can't... I can't stay long, I have to go to work soon, but I just wanted, to, uh, apologize for babbling at you the other day. Oh, I'm Phil. Hi."

"No, it's totally fine, you weren't babbling at all, it sounded kind of interesting, actually -- much more interesting than what I was working on!" Clint realizes that _he's_ babbling, and takes a breath. "How'd it go, anyway? Your paper?"

"It's due tomorrow. I've got to do one last round of editing on it when I get back to my room tonight, but I needed a break from it."

Clint grins wryly. "Bet your roommate isn't singing about tacos, though."

Phil blinks at him. "Sorry... tacos?"

"Never mind," Clint says with a shrug. He nods at Phil's phone case, which is blue and bears a familiar shield. "So, Captain America, huh?"

Phil's smile goes a little stiff. "You can't say anything to me I haven't already heard in junior high or high school, so -- "

"Whoa, hey, not judging, seriously," Clint says, raising his hands in surrender, giving Phil a grin to try and ease the sudden tension. He's clearly hit a nerve -- something he's great at, to be honest. He's kind of surprised it's taken this long. "But you totally picked your essay topic so you could read comics for class, didn't you?"

Phil eyes him for a moment, obviously trying to decide if Clint is making fun of him. Eventually, his smile softens. "Reread, mostly. A lot of the older ones I used are digital copies, because I'm not about to open those."

"Worth a lot?"

Phil shrugs. "Some. Some are... sentimental."

Clint thinks of the only time he's ever really had access to comics -- a foster brother he had once, who'd have kicked Clint's ass from here to Sunday if he'd known Clint had taken any of them out of the plastic to read.

That's not really something he wants to bring up, so he casts around for something -- anything -- to say.

"So... all that stuff is real, huh?"

Phil shrugs, taking a drink from the cup in his hand. He licks foam off his lip, and it's very distracting. Clint almost misses Phil saying, "Not all of it, no. But Steve Rogers was a real individual, he was born on July 4th -- "

"Seriously?"

Phil laughs. "Seriously. And he was in the army."

His phone lights up, and he frowns down at it before picking it up and shifting his bag back onto his shoulder. "Oh, that's my second alarm, I really have to go. It was nice talking to you again, Clint! Good luck with your finals!"

"You too! And, hey, would you maybe -- "

By the time Clint has gathered half the courage to ask for some way to contact him again, Phil is gone. He sighs.

"Damn," he mutters forlornly, taking a drink. "Ugh, gross. Cold."

It figures.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

One of the lesser known benefits of going to a school with a good agricultural program is the campus farm store, Clint thinks as he wanders along the shelves -- especially since he can use his meal credits on whatever he buys there. He's been pretty frugal with his meal plan this semester, and meals are included when he works at the dining hall, so he's got quite a few credits to blow before his plan rolls over.

He has two finals left, and he's reached the point where his notes look like some kind of abstract art project instead of real words. Poking through the jars of preserves and the bins of squash is a _very_ welcome distraction.

Even more welcome is the familiar face he glimpses while he's waiting for the deli staff to finish making his sandwich.

Phil is standing at the big vat of wildflower honey, watching as it slowly fills the small plastic container he's holding that's shaped like a bear.

If it were Nat or Sam or Wade or any of his other friends, Clint would greet them with, _Hey, honey_ , but he doesn't honestly know how Phil would take that, and he doesn't want to freak the guy out.

Clint ambles over to him, and Phil glances at him, swearing when his hand shifts and honey spills over his fingers. He switches the bottle to his other hand, bringing the honey-covered one to his lips.

"Oh, hi, Clint," he says between licking the honey off his fingers, and Clint maybe stares a little too long at his mouth after that. 

"I like honey in my tea," Phil says as he stops the flow of honey coming from the tap and twists the cap onto the bottle before bringing his hand back to his mouth, pink tongue quickly darting between his knuckles again. "This stuff is better and cheaper than the stuff at the grocery store, so…"

He frowns at Clint, who's still staring. "You okay?"

 _Jesus, Barton, get a grip,_ Clint thinks wildly, and then coughs, because, no, he should not be thinking of _getting a grip_ right now!

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he says, clearing his throat when it comes out a little high. "Uh, yeah. Makes sense."

"It's kinda funny that we keep running into each other on a campus this size, don't you think?" Phil asks as he tucks the bottle of honey into the reusable bag he's carrying. He turns to the bin next to them and starts picking through the clementines. "I don't think I've seen you in any of my classes, though. Are you humanities?"

Clint huffs a laugh. "God, no. Uh, mechanical engineering."

Phil's eyes go a little wide. "Oh, wow. That's impressive. I suck at math, and that's a lot of math."

"A little, yeah," Clint says with a grin. "So, you? Humanities?"

Phil nods as he adds the bag of clementines to his things. "History."

"I could've guessed that, probably," Clint says, and Phil smiles, ducking his head and fiddling with the strap of his bag.

"Yeah, probably not too much of a shock."

"Hello, number 62, your order is ready, I've been calling you for like an hour, come get your sandwich!"

Startled, Clint glances over toward the sandwich counter. The guy behind it is waving a wrapped sandwich at him. When Clint looks back at Phil, he's slipping his phone out of his pocket to answer it, an apologetic look on his face, and Clint bites back a curse.

He's still on the phone by the time Clint's paid for his sandwich, and Clint hates to just leave, but he has to get across campus, and if he waits any longer, he's going to be late for his exam.

With one last wave at Phil, Clint makes his way out of the building.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Clint pulls his light jacket more tightly around him, glad once more that his archery scholarship's brought him to sunny Southern California. He spent winters all over the country during his years with Carson's, and he's not sorry to have left the cold and snow behind.

The line he's in shuffles slowly along. Selling back textbooks is the worst. The line is long, people are irritable, and the time it takes is almost not worth the completely unfair amount of money he gets back.

Well that's not true. Money is money, and all he has to do to get it is stand here in this endless line and watch Dog Cops on his phone. He's done worse things for less money.

The line inches forward again, and he shoves his bag of books along with his foot without taking his eyes off his screen.

The episode ends, and he feels like he's moved a foot. Sighing, he glances around, doing a double take when he spots Phil a few people behind him in line. Phil gives him a smile and a half-wave, like he's unsure Clint wants to acknowledge him. Which is just dumb.

"Hey," he says happily, pulling his earbuds out. He waves the three people between them forward. "Go ahead, it's cool."

"You don't have to do that," Phil protests. "This line is insane, there's no need for you to wait longer!"

"Well, I want to talk to you," Clint argues back, settling next to him, "And they probably wouldn't like it if I shouted across them, and asking if you could cut in front of them might lead to rioting, so…"

Phil grins. "True." He glances curiously at Clint's phone. "What were you watching?"

"Dog Cops," Clint says, and Phil's eyes light up.

"Oh, wow, I'm like three episodes behind -- I always have to work on Wednesday nights, and with the end of the semester I haven't had a chance to catch up."

Clint glances from him to the long, long line ahead of them and then back to Phil. "Got nothin' but time," he says, offering Phil an earbud. "Oh, jeez, wait," he says, taking it back just as Phil's about to grab it. He wipes it on his sleeve and hands it over. "A warning, though, the last episode isn't on Netflix yet, and I don't have it on my phone. The one before it is a pretty crazy cliffhanger."

"That's okay," Phil tells him, and wow, he's really close now. He's got freckles on his cheeks and his forehead, which Clint hadn't been able to see until now.

He laughs nervously. "Yeah, okay, well, if you scream in despair, you're going to piss all these people off, so…"

Phil grins and shuffles closer, tethered to Clint now by the earbud cord.

Clint scrolls through the episodes until Phil points to the oldest one he hasn't seen.

Clint doesn't have time for dating. He has friends, a full load of classes, two jobs, and an archery scholarship to keep up. Usually, he doesn't miss it.

Now, with Phil's body a solid presence beside him, his breath warm against Clint's cheek whenever he quietly laughs, Clint finds himself missing it quite a lot.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Working the till in the student dining hall is pretty tedious even at the best of times: swipe student I.D. after student I.D. and keep a pleasant smile on your face, for four to six hours at a time. It's actually the last part that's hardest for Clint -- his face has a tendency to fall into a pretty murderous expression if he's not careful. The managers had gotten a couple of complaints about his attitude when, really, he'd just been zoning out and thinking about his assignments. So now he smiles and smiles and _smiles_ , and he normally goes back to his room at the end of his shift with his cheeks aching.

He doesn't think he's going to have to worry about that this shift, though. With the semester officially over, the campus is dead. The dorms are nearly empty, most students having gone home for the break, or at least on vacation. There are a few who have stuck around, though, and Clint is one of them, having no hometown to go back to.

He's so bored. The dining hall is open all day, but it's the day before Christmas Eve, and he's had like six people come through. It's just about time for his lunch break, when one of the managers from upstairs will have to come down and watch the till.

Someone is climbing the long broad hill toward the dining hall -- Clint can see them through the glass doors, and he perks up a little. Then, he perks up even more, realizing who it is, and by the time Phil pushes through the doors, Clint is grinning. Phil is smiling, too.

"Hi," Phil says, reaching for his wallet.

"Hey," Clint says as he takes Phil's I.D. and swipes it. "I didn't know you were still around!"

Phil shrugs, but his smile dims a little. "Yeah, still here. Didn't know you'd be, either."

Clint wonders if Phil doesn't have anywhere else to go either. "Well, this place would fall to pieces if I weren't here to swipe I.D.s," he says, and Phil laughs. He's gorgeous when he laughs, and Clint gathers his courage up. 

"I have a break in a few minutes," he tells Phil. "We could eat together? If you want?"

"Sure, that sounds great!" Phil says easily, and Clint grins in relief. "Can I order or grab you anything?"

"Nah, it's cool," Clint tells him, waving the offer off. "I'll be up in about five minutes or so?"

"I could wait here?" Phil offers hopefully.

God, Clint would love that. "I wish you could, but one of the managers is going to relieve me, and they probably wouldn't like that."

"Oh, yeah, that wouldn't be great," Phil says. "Okay, I'll see you upstairs?"

Clint nods, and Phil shoots him one last smile before turning to climb the stairs from the entrance foyer to the dining hall. Clint watches him go, happy to admire the view, wondering how many times he's swiped Phil's I.D. without giving him any more notice than any other student.

The next five minutes are the longest in a very long shift. Finally, he hears the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and he thanks Alex and hurries up the stairs practically before Alex has finished coming down them.

He grabs a tray and loads it up with a premade sandwich and salad, since they're the quickest meal available, and he can't help his smile as he spots Phil at a table near a window, picking at his pasta and reading something on his phone.

"Hey," he says, sliding into the seat opposite Phil. Phil smiles and tucks his phone away, and Clint adds, "How'd your paper go? The Captain America one?"

Phil shrugs. "Okay, I think. Haven't gotten my grade yet. How'd your finals go?"

Clint forks up some of his salad and gives a shrug of his own. "I guess okay? Well enough to keep my archery scholarship for another semester, probably."

"Archery," Phil says, his eyes widening. "Wow, that's uh…" His gaze flits over Clint's arms and shoulders, and Clint tries not to flex or preen. "That's pretty cool."

"Keeps me here," Clint says easily, like he doesn't have weekly nightmares about losing his scholarship and being forced to leave school.

They talk for a few minutes about the other classes they've taken, and then, between bites of his sandwich, Clint says, "So I've been reading a little bit about Steve Rogers."

Phil blinks at him in surprise, bite of pasta halfway to his mouth.

"You have?" he asks, lips curving in a slow smile.

Clint shrugs, hoping his cheeks aren't as pink as they feel. "A little. More about his friend, the sniper in his group. Snipers are badass."

"Bucky?" Phil asks, curious, and Clint nods.

"Yeah, Barnes, his like, best friend, or whatever." He takes another bite of his sandwich, suddenly nervous. "Well, depending on what source you read, they were fucking. Him and Cap."

Phil's mouth tightens, and Clint wonders if was a good idea to bring this up after all.

"Some historians believe that, yes," Phil says evenly.

Clint gestures at him with a fork full of lettuce. "What you do think?"

Phil studies his face for long enough that Clint is about to change the subject, and then he shrugs and looks away. "Yeah, I think they were… sleeping together, but I think it was more than that," he says, toying with his pasta and avoiding Clint's gaze. "I think they were in love."

That isn't the answer Clint was expecting -- he isn't sure _what_ he was expecting -- but he finds he likes it. And he likes Phil, even more, for thinking it. "Well, their lives were pretty short and pretty sad, so if they were, if they had that little bit of happiness, good for them."

Phil finally meets his eyes, and he smiles. "Yeah, that's kinda how I feel about it."

"A little bit of happiness makes up for a lot," Clint says, thinking of his own life, and the bright moments that have helped him keep going. Maybe spending more time with Phil will give him a few more of those bright spots.

"Listen," he starts, wiping his mouth and catching Phil's gaze again. Phil's eyes are so blue, and so bright, and so open. So kind, and it's hard for Clint not to get lost in them. "I have to go back to work soon, but I was wondering… the Student Union is open all night tomorrow night, and I was thinking of just hanging out there by the Christmas tree and watching the Dog Cops Christmas Special and maybe some other Christmas stuff on my laptop. Would you… do you want to join me?"

Phil gives him a slow, sweet smile. "That sounds nice. I have to work until 9, though… I could come after? I'll bring the hot chocolate."

"Awesome," Clint says, his heart thumping happily. Even if Phil isn't interested in him as anything but a friend, not being alone on Christmas is way more than he expected. His phone alarm goes off, and he sighs, gathering up his dishes and his tray. "Gotta head back down now. See you tomorrow, Phil!"

"See you tomorrow night, Clint," Phil says with a grin, and Clint smiles back. It's much easier to smile through his shift than it normally is.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Clint gets to the Student Union around 9. As he'd suspected it would be, it's empty, though the doors are unlocked and the huge tree in the lobby is lit. He busies himself pushing furniture around, moving one of the couches closer to the tree and dragging a couple of ottomans in front of it. He shakes out the blanket he brought from his room, and he's just plugging in his power strip when a security guard appears, probably drawn by all the noise.

"Just gonna hang out with a friend and watch movies for a while," Clint tells him. "If that's okay? We'll put it all back when we're done!"

The guard is still eying him suspiciously, so Clint offers him one of the half-dozen candy canes he'd shoved in his backpack. "Merry Christmas?"

After a moment, the guard smiles and steps closer, taking the candy cane from Clint's hand. "Merry Christmas, kid," he says, before disappearing down the corridor again.

Clint shrugs and drops onto the couch with a sigh, putting his feet up and dragging the blanket over himself. It's been a long day, and he's tired. He had an endless, boring shift at the dining hall, and then he helped out with the Christmas party at the community center where he tutors math and teaches archery, which was fun, but exhausting.

He's not the kind of person who can fall asleep in public, but he closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the couch and drifts, just waiting for Phil.

_Phil._

Without meaning to, Clint finds himself smiling.

Around 9:45, the door opens, and Clint raises his head to watch Phil rush in.

"Sorry, sorry, jeez, it took _forever_ to close up the shop, who the hell waits until 9 on Christmas Eve to figure out what to get someone, people are so disorganized!"

He stops in front of Clint, pulling off his hat and setting his backpack on the floor by the couch as he takes a deep breath.

"Hi," he says with a sheepish smile.

"Hey," Clint greets him, twitching up the blanket to give him a place to sit.

Phil looks around before doing so. "This is nice."

"I thought so," Clint says. It's festive, and yeah, they could've hung out in either of their dorm rooms, but Phil might have taken that suggestion the wrong way -- not that Clint wouldn't want him to take it that way, but only if Phil _wants_ to take it that way, and --

Clint clamps down on his mental babbling, watching Phil get settled. Phil sits pretty close to him on the full-sized couch, which Clint knows is kind of necessary if they're gonna watch something on Clint's laptop, but still, it threatens to make Clint's brain start yammering again.

"Cookie?" he asks, offering one of the leftover ones he brought from the community center's party.

"Thanks." Phil's grateful smile threatens to to steal Clint's breath, and it's possible he didn't think this through very well, because he's not sure he's going to make it through tonight without completely embarrassing himself.

"So, you've never told me where you work," Clint says as he pulls out his laptop.

"Comic Quest, downtown," Phil tells him, and Clint pauses. When he looks at Phil, he's flushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, yeah, in case you somehow _hadn't_ noticed, I'm kind of a comic book geek," he says dryly.

"Somehow slipped past me," Clint grins, and Phil shoves him into the side of the couch, laughing.

"Cocoa?" Phil asks when they've settled back down, pulling a thermos out of his backpack and waving it at Clint.

Clint blinks at him in surprise. "Wow, you actually brought some."

Hurt flickers in Phil's eyes. "I said I would."

"Yeah, I know, just..." Clint hasn't had too much experience with people who keep their word. "Sure. Thanks."

Phil pours them both a cup -- he brought actual mugs, two different Captain America ones, and Clint laughs.

"You get an employee discount?" he asks, still laughing.

"Best part," Phil grins, handing Clint a mug. His grin softens a little as he adds, "Actually, the best part is helping people find comics I know they'll like."

Clint stops with his mug halfway to his mouth and just stares, because how is this guy a real person that actually exists?

"That's really nice," he says after a moment, and Phil shrugs self-consciously and takes a sip of cocoa.

"Thought we were watching Dog Cops?"

They drink hot chocolate and munch cookies while they watch, and every time Phil laughs or turns his head to comment, his shoulder brushes Clint's. Clint knows that sparks when two people touch don't really happen, but the casual contact does make him warm enough that kicking off the blanket is simultaneously a very good idea and a very bad idea.

By the time the episode ends, Phil has shifted so that he's basically leaning against Clint, their shoulders and arms constantly in contact, legs touching from hip to ankle. It's making it hard for Clint to breathe, but he also kind of wishes they could just stay like this forever.

"It's still early," Phil says, looking at his watch as the credits roll, and it makes Clint happy to know that Phil doesn't really want to leave yet either.

"We could watch something else," Clint offers.

"Like what?"

"Muppet Christmas Carol?" Clint tosses out, expecting rolled eyes and a laugh.

Phil's eyes light up, and his smile is _gorgeous_.

"I love that movie," he says shyly, and Clint has to swallow a few times before he can say, his voice rough, "Me too."

They are halfway through the movie when Phil's phone beeps. He glances down at it and then up at Clint with another happy, lethal smile.

"Merry Christmas," he says, and Clint can hear a clock chiming the hour somewhere in the building.

"Merry Christmas," Clint replies, pausing the movie and grinning back. "Did you set an alarm for midnight?"

"I didn't want to miss it," Phil says sheepishly. His gaze stays on Clint's face, his smile fading just a little as he shifts until he's fully facing Clint.

"I..." Phil starts, and then he stops to clear his throat. "I hope I'm not reading things wrong."

Clint's breath leaves him in a rush, and all he can do is shake his head.

"No," he forces out after a moment, panicking when Phil frowns. "I mean. You're not. Reading things wrong. Not -- not at all."

"Oh. Good." 

Phil's smile returns, bright and happy, and it steals all of Clint's breath again. Phil slowly leans in until his lips are barely brushing Clint's, and Clint has to bite back what would probably have come out as a completely embarrassing whimper as he leans into Phil's kiss.

Clint's life is busy -- full of friends and work, classes and archery. He doesn't have time for dating, and he's generally pretty terrible at relationships. He really shouldn't do this, shouldn't start anything here.

But the universe keeps throwing them at each other, almost as if it's saying, "hey, look at this one, you should give him a chance!"

And really, Clint thinks as Phil pulls him closer and they have to break apart, laughing, as Clint dives to rescue his laptop from the floor, who is Clint to argue with the universe?

**END**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feelstide Prompt #69: Finals are the worst time to start dating, but Clint and Phil just seem to keep running into each other and having pseudo-dates. Run ins at the cafeteria, in line at the coffee shop, and even at the library (where neither of them get as much studying done as they’d like, because of hotness across the table).
> 
> Also, Clint and Phil go to school in Southern California because that's where I went to school, a million years ago.


End file.
